Left With Questions
by mage94
Summary: Dissatisfied with the way things turned out in his life, Harry is left with several questions about his past. He travels back in time to his fourth year, to fix things. Please rate and review. Rating T to be on the safer side. May change the rating as the story progresses. This won't be slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : Everything, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing the characters for short while.

A/N: This is my first fanfiction, and my shot at multiple genres, including Powerful! Harry and Time-Travel! Harry. Dissatisfied with the way things turned out in his life, Harry travels back in time to his fourth year, to fix things. Please rate and review. Rating T to be on the safer side. May change the rating as the story progresses. This won't be slash.

Chapter 1

A lone figure stood on the edge of a cliff, watching the sun set in the West. On both sides of the spectacular panorama, the rocky beaches of Wales stretched as far as the eye could see. Strong waves lapped the rough shores, and the picturesque sky was dotted with seagulls. A gentle breeze was flowing from the sea to the lush, green lands, filling the isolated person with peace. Not a soul was present for several miles, providing the figure with ample seclusion.

The figure standing on the precipice was a man of about five-foot nine, wearing robes of pure black. He had long, shaggy grey hair, some of it tied in a ponytail. His neatly trimmed Verdi style beard, had strands of black and silver. The wrinkles on his face described the scars of the decades he had lived by. His eyes, once the colour of the _Avada Kedavra,_ were now a dull green, shining with strength and wisdom. On his forehead, was a curious lightning-shaped scar, one that identified him as one Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Man-Who-Conquered.

The date was 31st July, 2180, and Harry Potter had turned two hundred years old. Even after living for two centuries, Harry wasn't tired of life. Living every day as if it were his last, his youthful exuberance and his unshakeable spirit belied his age. In his rather more-than-average lifespan as a wizard, Harry had met and exchanged stories with several people, roamed the world and gathered knowledge, becoming wiser each passing day. Of course, it all started on _that_ fateful day.

 _Flashback_

 _In his entire career of twenty-five years as an Auror, Harry Potter had never been injured. Not grievously, anyway. For him, the Auror raids resulted in minor scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious. All his wounds so far had been healed by the Auror department's resident Healers and medics. One day however, a raid in one of the black markets of Southampton had resulted in the capture of Harry, and a demand of ransom from the kidnappers. The ensuing fight had lasted for over ten hours, in which all the thugs were killed, but Harry was left in a critical condition._

 _He was immediately rushed to St. Mungo's, and his treatment had lasted for over two weeks, after which the healers had decided to keep him under observation for a few days. Healer Julian Crompton, a good friend of Harry's, was personally monitoring and supervising Harry's treatment. A few days into the treatment, Harry was sprawled on his hospital bed, reading a book. His wife Ginny and his children had left a few hours ago, and now he was bored to death. Just as he was about to doze off, there was a knock on the door, and Healer Crompton entered the room._

 _Julian Crompton was a very popular Healer at St. Mungo's due to his immense knowledge in Healing and Potions, and his friendly attitude towards everyone. He was a short, plump man with a balding head, wearing a white coat, grey trousers and carrying a magical stethoscope around his neck._

" _Ah, Harry!" said Julian, smiling after seeing him. Striding to the various contraptions lined along the wall, he began checking the readings and noting them down. "Good, good. Two more days and you're good to go!" said Julian, glancing at the readings. "However, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."_

" _Huh?" said Harry, staring at his Healer friend. The usually smiling man had lost his perpetual grin, looking uncharacteristically serious. "What's the matter, Julian?"_

 _Julian pulled up a chair, and cast privacy charms on the door. Harry's eyebrows shot up; he was starting to get wary of Julian's unusual behaviour. "Well, I suppose there's no subtle way to approach this subject. Before I tell you anything, answer my question please. Has anyone done a full body scan on you before?"_

 _Harry was surprised at the question, but decided to humour his friend. "I guess. I've been in the Hogwarts infirmary more number of times than any student; Madam Pomfrey must have performed a scan at some point."_

 _Julian's features darkened. "Harry, what I'm about to tell you, are the results of a full body scan performed on you."_

 _And thus, out came the story of the multitude potions fed to him over the years. Right from the day he started Hogwarts, to present day; it listed several loyalty potions, love potions, Obliviations and also a block on his magic. With every revelation, Harry's anger grew. By the end of Julian's little speech, Harry was feeling murderous._

" _I saw fit to tell you this now, since you've almost made a full recovery. Normally, I'd wait for the patient to heal completely, and…" Julian's words drifted off as he looked at Harry, who was trying to say something. Harry knew Julian wasn't lying; his Healer's Oath prevented him from doing so._

 _Finally, Harry managed to say, "Thank you for telling me, Healer Julian. May I have some privacy? I have a lot of thinking to do." Harry's formal monotone worried Julian. However, he got up and began to leave. Before exiting the room, he turned at the door and looked at Harry. "If you wish to talk to someone, I'm always here Harry." Harry smiled at the kind man. "Thank you, Julian." was all Healer Crompton heard before he closed the door._

 _End Flashback_

What followed after would make the headlines of The Daily Prophet for weeks. Copies were sold out and re-printed, reporting Harry Potter's falling out with his family, the Weasleys. The Weasleys were held in contempt of their actions, and shunned by the magical population. Though uninvolved or ignorant in any wrongdoings, Harry's children were forever tainted with the faults of their mother. Divorce wasn't an option in the Wizarding World; and so, Harry sought a barrister, proceeding with an annulment of his marriage.

When everything had quieted down, Harry visited his children one last time. He let James, Albus and Lily know that he was severing all ties with Ginny and the Weasleys, and would be travelling the world, promising to stay in touch. The boys and Lily were hurt, but they knew that their father was far more hurt, and needed a period of self-healing. Besides, all of them were nearly adults, and could take their own decisions. Harry also paid visits to Neville, Luna, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, Kingsley, Andromeda (whom he called Andi), and last but not the least his Godson, Teddy. Dora's and Remus' son was happily married to Victoire, and had followed in his Godfather's footsteps, becoming an Auror.

And thus, Harry began to travel. He journeyed high and low, far and wide. From the Rocky Mountains of the States, to the great Sahara Desert; from the Amazon forest to the wet, tropical lands in Asia; Harry's indefinite excursion involved covering all seven continents. He hiked in the Himalayas, swam in the Great Barrier Reef, visited the lost city of the Incas, caught glimpses of wildlife in Tanzania, and toured the sprawling cities of Asia. Money wasn't a problem; the wealth he had accumulated after the war was more than sufficient to last him for another hundred years. His children were well settled, and no longer needed the Potter Vault. Ginny and the Weasleys had no access to Harry's fortune.

His magic and intelligence, no longer plagued by the power block and potions, resulted in Harry soon developing a thirst for knowledge. After a year of relaxation, Harry began his quest of learning. First, he revised from the Hogwarts curriculum; in which he included Arithmancy and Ancient Runes as well. After a thorough understanding of all subjects, he then turned towards the curriculums of others magical schools. Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Ilvermorny, Castelobruxo, Koldovstoretz, Mahoutokoro, Uagadoue, Salem were just some of the schools whose curriculums he covered. With each passing day, his academic attainment expanded, gaining a deep insight in various aspects of magic.

He met several great masters and mistresses of magic; people who were elites in their chosen fields. He delved into Occlumency, Legilimency, Blood Magic, Wards, Necromancy, Transmutation, Parselmagic, Alchemy, Spell Crafting, Wand Crafting and Wandlore. Under the alias 'James Evans', he started duelling in the magical underworld, gaining reputation as one of the deadliest duellists in history, and earning millions of galleons.

His travels had ended about five years ago, and now he lived a life of quiet isolation. He had outlived all of his children, his ex-wife, his friends and colleagues from the past. He'd kept an eye on the descendants of the Potter family, his grand-something sons and daughters, but never directly approached them. He was thought dead long back, which suited him just fine. So, as he stood on the cliff overlooking the sea, enjoying the cool breeze, he reflected back on his latest thought process- time travel.

True, he'd lived about a hundred and twenty more years than he'd thought. True, he had knowledge and wisdom that most wizards and witches would dream of having. True, he was probably the strongest person on the planet right now. 'But', he mused. 'I'm not happy.' Controlled and manipulated in his earlier years, had left him unable to trust people, thus leaving him bereft of a _truly_ meaningful relationship. He yearned for a Happily Ever After, living his life to the fullest, and then passing on to his next great adventure. More than anything though, he was left with several unanswered questions pertaining to his past, and he wanted them answered.

While travelling, when he was crossing Turkmenistan, he came across an old mosque, which used to be a church at some point in the past. He discovered several old documents describing a technique, which if done correctly, would send his _soul_ back in time, effectively ending his life in this timeline. 'Oh, what the hell', thought Harry, staring into the dying sun. 'I've got nothing left in this world. If I screw up, I get to meet my parents. It's a win-win situation.'

The following day, at his small stone house near the cliff, he made all the proper arrangements and waited. He sat and meditated, reflecting back on his life. He thought about his childhood, his youth, his middle-age, old age and final years. He thought about his past; his friends and foes, allies and enemies, colleagues and acquaintances. He ruminated on his acquirements and illumination, his education and erudition, and the knowledge and wisdom he had gathered in his life. Harry uttered the incantation, pointing the wand at his temple. The tip of his wand started glowing softly, and a buzzing noise filled the atmosphere. The air became thick with magic, visibly crackling with magical power. Harry started to feel his life slipping away, deep into darkness.

Harry's last thought before he lost his life completely was, 'Shit! Did I leave the stove on?'


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** : Everything, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing the characters for short while.

Chapter 2

Harry felt his mind drifting off into nothingness. It wasn't like the controlling, soothing presence of the Imperius Curse upon the mind, or the blissful relaxation of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. No, this was just…nothing. It was similar to an Occlumency technique Harry had learned a while ago. His mental state kept getting carried away towards void, and emptiness seemed to envelope his subconscious. Suddenly, as if his brain was being portkeyed, he felt a tug on his mind, and his senses were pulled and jerked somewhere.

And, as abruptly as it had begun, reality swam into focus, and he heard someone's voice say, "…rry! Harry! Wake up! What's happened to you?" Slowly, he opened his eyes, and his vision started to adjust. Shaking his head, trying to clear the mental cobwebs, his awareness normalizing itself, his eyes rested on a person who had been dead to him for more than a century. Hermione Granger. Her chocolate-brown eyes were filled with concern (or was it _fake_ concern?), and her hair was bushier than ever. Harry got up slowly and looked around. He was in the Gryffindor common room.

It had worked. It had _actually_ worked. Or was it a hallucination? Drawing out his wand, he did a quick _Tempus_ spell. 5.46pm, Monday 31st October, 1994. Yes, YES! He did a victory dance in his mind, never having truly believed that the spell would work. His jubilation was perhaps visible on his face, because Hermione clapped her hands in front of Harry's face. "Hello! Earth to Harry. Are you alright?" Harry's eyes once more settled on the Ravenclaw-ish Gryffindor. Before travelling back in time, he hadn't decided how he was going to tackle his so-called friends. Actually, he hadn't decided how he was going to handle _anyone._ Now however, he did some quick thinking, and replied back to Hermione, "I'm alright. I'll be back in sometime."

"Where are you going? It's almost dinner-time!", exclaimed Hermione. "Yes, yes. I know. I'll meet you in the Great Hall," said Harry, and without waiting for a reply, walked rapidly towards the dormitories. He almost sprinted up the stairs, and went inside the fourth-year boys' dormitory, which was thankfully empty. Stopping for a moment, Harry took a deep breath. Then, he did a victory jig around the dormitory, pumping his fists up in the air. It had worked! Although he had done careful research before beginning the process, he had very little hopes. Now however, after being back in time, he could begin to make things right. It was time to manipulate people the way they had manipulated him.

Checking the date once again, Harry decided that there was no better date he could have come back on. One of Riddle's Horcruxes was already destroyed, and hopefully Riddle would be destroyed too, by the end of the year. He had to meticulously plan everything, starting from today. Today was the date the Triwizard Champions would be announced, so he could forge alliances with the right people and alienate those he didn't want in his life. Namely three people- Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger.

After spending a few moments planning how things were going to happen once his name came out of the Goblet, Harry proceeded for dinner. The Great Hall was filled with students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Harry went and plopped himself between Neville and Parvati. Ignoring Ron's and Hermione's gestures for him to join them, Harry's eyes roamed towards the head table. Barty Crouch Jr., the man Polyjuiced as Alastor Moody, was seated chatting with Dumbledore. Hagrid was seemingly trying to talk to Madame Maxime, whereas Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were engaged in deep conversation. Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey were talking to each other, and Severus Snape and Igor Karkaroff sat imperiously, their eyes surveying the students.

Harry was feeling numb; all the people around him had been dead for a long time. The whole situation suddenly struck him with the speed of a freight train. He was back in time, granted a second chance and allowed to fix things. He now had the knowledge of the past, the present, and could determine how things would turn out. Never again would he bend to Dumbledore's and Voldemort's machinations, or fall prey to any deceit. He could fabricate his future, and design his own destiny. He could carve his own path, and decide his own fate. He _won't_ be the rope in a tug of war between two senile old men; a Dark Lord and a Light Lord.

He maintained light conversation with Neville (who seemed surprised that Harry was talking to him instead of Ron and Hermione), all the while waiting in anticipation for the Goblet. Soon, dinner was done, and a palpable excitement filled the Great Hall. Not unlike Harry's previous timeline, Dumbledore instructed the soon-to-be-decided champions to assemble in the antechamber adjacent to the Great Hall. He swept his wand, dimming the lights, giving the Hall an eerie glow that cast shadows on the age-old walls. Harry leaned forward in anticipation, even though he knew what was going to happen.

Victor Krum, followed by Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory were elected Champions of Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts respectively. The two wizards and witch walked off to the antechamber, amidst thunderous applause. As Dumbledore started speaking once again, the fateful moment finally came; the Goblet of Fire turned red once more. A long flame shot out of it, carrying with it a piece of parchment. Dumbledore seized it, held it, took a long pause and finally read out the name written on it.

"Harry Potter."

This was it, an important turning point in either timelines; a moment in time that would decide how his fate would shape out to be, depending solely on his reaction and how others would perceive it. Harry morphed his face to one of utter shock. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him; all of them judging him, assessing him, sizing him up. There was absolute silence in the hall, then "Harry Potter!" called Dumbledore once again. Harry let his shocked look dissolve to one of complete rage. " _No_!" said Harry, undisguised fury ringing in his voice. "I _didn't_ put my name in the Goblet, and I _won't_ compete in the tournament!" The Great Hall broke into whispers at this sudden proclamation. Dumbledore and the other professors appeared surprised at this outburst. "Mr. Potter…" began Professor McGonagall, but Harry decided to be adamant.

"I said _no!_ Year after year, my life in this school is thrown in jeopardy, and I end up being the suspect in everything that happens around here!" Before anyone could stop him, Harry whipped out his wand, and intoned loudly. "I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic that I did not enter my name in the Goblet of Fire for the Triwizard Tournament, nor did I ask an older person to do it. So mote be it!" There was a blinding flash of light, after which people saw that Harry was still standing. " _Lumos_ ," said Harry, and his wand lit up with the spell. "As you can _clearly_ see, I have my life and magic intact. If I have another year of people accusing or abusing me, I shall withdraw from Hogwarts. This is the only warning you're going to get." _Noxing_ his wand, he made a show of storming off to the antechamber, acutely aware, yet paying no heed to the abuzz Great Hall.

The three champions were assembled in the small chamber, the fires of the dying embers casting long shadows over the portraits hanging on the walls. Like his former timeline, it was Fleur who spotted him first, and asked, "What iz eet?" she asked. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

Harry shook his head in anger, which wasn't difficult to produce. "No," he said, glancing at the other champions. "My name came out of Goblet." The three looked at him, visibly astonished. Before they could say anything, however, Ludo Bagman rushed in the room. Bagman opened his mouth to say something, but Harry was having none of it. Sure, he was half-willing to be a participant in this sham of a tournament, just because he wanted to see Riddle die by the year end, but that didn't mean he was going to let people like Bagman and Crouch walk scot-free.

"Mr. Bagman, let me tell you once again what I told everyone back in the Hall. I. Did. Not. Enter. My. Name. In. The. _Fucking_. Tournament," said Harry, emphasizing on each word, his voice laced with power. "I never had, nor will I ever have any inclination or wish to take part in it. I trust you've taken precautions for something like this?" Bagman simply stuttered into silence at the question. He was saved by the arrival of the professors- Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, along with Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. Barty Crouch Sr. lurked in the background, looking like a vulture about to prey on the dying and the dead.

Immediately, Fleur sauntered on to her Headmistress, saying, "Madame Maxime! Zis leetle boy says 'ee is to compete too!" Harry felt a pang of annoyance on hearing those words, but he ignored it.

"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" asked an irate Madam Maxime.

"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, with an incensed look on his face. " _Two_ Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions — or have I not read the rules carefully enough?"

What followed after was the Headmasters of the two schools expressing their displeasure at the whole situation, with Snape commenting smartly, until Dumbledore (who was quiet and expressionless the whole time) finally turned to Harry and asked, "Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"I think my magical oath would be sufficient to say that I most certainly did _not_ enter my name in this accursed competition, Professor," said Harry sharply, gazing at all of them. "And I certainly do hope that all of you will make that _abundantly_ clear to the whole school. I do _not_ want a repeat of the second year."

"Potter!" snapped Snape, his face filled with fury, but eyes glowing with malicious glee. "How dare you talk to teachers like that! I knew you were an arrogant-" but he was interrupted by Dumbledore.

"That's enough, Severus." Dumbledore turned towards Harry, his eyes shining with an unknown expression in the firelight. "Harry, why did you take that magical oath in the Hall?" Maybe the man was troubled by Harry's statement of leaving the school.

"I thought I made that clear, Professor," said Harry, looking at Dumbledore with his eyes narrowed. "It was to let the school know that I've no intention to participate in this tournament. I wish to withdraw from it."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, young man," said Barty Crouch Sr., suddenly making his presence known. "Submitting your name and getting accepted for the Triwizard Tournament is tantamount to entering into a magically binding contract."

"And the only protection that this thing had was a stupid age line?" said Harry, keeping his expression disbelieving and his tone incredulous. "Professors, do you realize that we stay in a school full of smart kids? Any person of age could've written my name on a piece of parchment, crossed the age line, and easily dropped it in the Goblet?"

Nobody had an answer to that. In fact, all of them seemed to be astounded by his reasoning. Harry sighed at the stupidity of the magical populace in general.

"Professors, I trust you to make this clear to the school?" said Harry, looking specifically at Dumbledore and McGonagall. He felt an almost unnoticeably light Legilimency probe in his mind.

Dumbledore was bewildered at Harry's newfound sharpness and confidence. He had expected the boy to be frightened and looking for help. Instead, he radiating self-assurance and firmness. He decided to discreetly scan the boy's mind, and pushed forth a delicate probe. Albus Dumbledore was an expert in passive Legilimency, but Harry was a genius in Occlumency. He had a layer of fake thoughts that he projected outside of his actual mental shields; thoughts that Dumbledore found access to and found normal enough. Dumbledore's momentary nonplussed expression dissolved to a grave one.

"Rest assured, Harry. I will announce this to the school tomorrow. Meanwhile," Dumbledore said, turning towards Karkaroff and Maxime, "it seems like we have no choice but to accept this situation. From Hogwarts, both Cedric and Harry have been chosen champions, and so- "

"But Dumbly-dorr-"

"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it"

After politely waiting for a few moments, in which Olympe Maxime and Igor Karkaroff both glared at Dumbledore, Bagman, in his excited boyish manner, asked Barty to share the instructions regarding the first task of the tournament. This time, Barty Crouch Jr., the fake Moody, didn't feel the need to intervene in the conversations. He skulked in the shadows, his magical eye whizzing in place and his leg stump making a _thunk_ sound every now and then. After the dour Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation had relayed the rules and regulations, and some chitchat from a bouncing Bagman later, everyone began exiting the room.

Harry and Cedric left the room together, neither speaking to each other for a few moments. Eventually, Cedric broke the silence.

"You know, Harry. Even though you've taken the magical oath, some people are still going to believe that you put your name in the Goblet."

"I know," replied Harry, frustration evident in his voice. "But this year, I'm not going to take crap from anyone. This includes folks from your house," he added, glancing at a surprised Cedric. "I've had enough of that in my second year."

They stopped at a point from where Cedric would walk in the directions of the Hogwarts kitchens, where the Hufflepuff dorms were located. Cedric was quiet for a moment, then he said, "I believe you, Harry."

Harry, a little astonished, looked at Cedric. As far as he could remember things from his previous timeline, Cedric hadn't believed him when Harry had mentioned that he didn't enter his name in the Goblet. What had changed now?

"Thank you, Cedric. If you don't mind me asking, what made you believe that I didn't enter my name?"

"I dunno, to be honest. Truth to be told, you've gotten yourself in so much shite all these years. You don't strike me as an attention-seeking glory hound that some people paint you to be. You already have enough fame from the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing as it is."

"Would you mind explaining all of this to your housemates? They won't listen to me, but they'll certainly listen to you."

Cedric grinned, then replied, "I promise, I'll try my best to convince them."

"Right, thanks. Good night, then," said Harry, and walked towards the marble staircase, his mind currently a hurricane of thoughts.

As he climbed up the steps, he reflected on the events of the evening. 'It seems like I still need to do a lot more convincing, even after the oath,' he thought. 'And a lot more planning needs to be done, starting from _tonight_.'

He reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was gossiping with a portrait-friend of hers. Ignoring their questions about the tournament, and having received the password from one of the prefects before leaving, Harry said, "Balderdash."

Harry turned a deaf ear to their rebukes, and entered the common room. As predicted, a raucous party was in full swing. Several people pulled him inside, bombarding him with questions. People were screaming, clapping and whistling. The Weasley twins were in their element, congratulating him and slapping him on the back. Harry tried to gather their attention, but in vain. He tried calling everyone to stop, to listen to him, but no one paid him heed. Finally, Harry had enough. Brandishing his wand, he let out a deafening blast from his wand. Immediately, the common room turned silent.

" _Silence_!" thundered Harry, anger coming off him in waves. The people nearest to him edged away in fear.

"Do any of you _imbeciles_ not remember the oath I gave oh-so-publicly in the Great Hall? I DID NOT ENTER THE FUCKING TOURNAMENT!" roared Harry, his fury making people flinch.

"But Harry-" began Fred, but Harry rounded up on him.

"Fred, you've been warned once. All of you have been warned once, so _don't_ make me repeat myself. This competition is dangerous, it's life threatening. It's meant for adult witches and wizards, not for a fourteen-year-old boy. People have _died_ in the tournament in the past."

Harry's eyes flittered across the common room, making eye contact with most people. "I ask you once again. Haven't I already given an oath?"

There was silence, then Katie Bell said in a small voice, "You did, Harry."

"Then why does everyone think I entered my name?" asked Harry angrily. "I still remember my second year, during the whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco. While the rest of the school painted me as the Heir of Slytherin and gave me a hard time, _none_ of you voiced their support of me. I had honestly considered withdrawing from Hogwarts. Yes," he added, looking at their shocked faces. "I guarantee you, the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs are going to make things difficult this year too. _And_ , as I've mentioned to Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff champion, I'm not going to tolerate _any_ unpleasantness from _anyone_ this year, and that includes all of _you_. I am _not_ the Hogwarts champion, Cedric is."

Harry looked at them for a moment, shook his head, and made his way upstairs to his dorm. No one stopped him, nobody felt like dissuading him; not after that outburst at least.

Upon entering the dorm, he found only Ron was present, sitting on his bed. Not saying a word to him, Harry strolled to his bed, taking off his scarf and coat, moving busily around.

"So, congratulations," said Ron, with a strained smile.

"You believe _I_ put my name in the Goblet, don't you? Even after the _bloody_ oath," said Harry, without looking at the redhead.

"You must've used your Invisibility Cloak," said Ron, a slow grimace creeping in his tone.

Harry whirled around to stare at Ron. "This is it, Ron. This is the moment where you decide whether I'm your friend, or whether I'm an attention grabber. This is the only chance you're going to get."

Ron looked conflicted for a moment, before his face contorted into anger. "I'm not stupid. Everyone knows you entered your name, Potter!"

Harry became silent, mentally cheering that his subtle plan had worked. As predicted, the jealous brat had fallen prey to his own poisonous envy. Harry had been tempted to use Mind Altering charms, or Legilimency on the Weasley idiot and his sister, but refrained, as they were still children.

"Very well, Weasley," said Harry softly, his face set into an expressionless mask. "Henceforth, our so-called friendship comes to a close. Never say that I didn't warn you."

Not staying around to watch Ron's expression, or to hear him spluttering, Harry went to have a nice, hot shower.

Harry closed the hangings of his four-poster bed early, not wanting to talk to the other boys. One by one, they came in the dorm, talking softly. An hour or so later, Harry started to hear their gentle snores. Slowly, Harry got up and sat upright.

He had planning to do after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** : Everything, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing the characters for short while.

"Hello"—indicates normal talk

" _Hello"_ —indicates Gobbledegook

Chapter 3

Harry got up from his bed quietly. All the other boys were sound asleep, judging by their perpetual snores and sleep-induced mumblings. Harry began waving his wand around, muttering several incantations. Opening his trunk, Harry kept flicking his wand without stopping. He was casting Detection spells; some obscure, others rare. Quite a few of them would be unknown to the Unspeakables of the Ministry. Harry detected a listening charm right next to his bed, and a Tracking charm on some of his clothes, as well as his Invisibility Cloak. Shaking his head in disgust, he thought, 'What am I to do with these spells? No doubt, Dumbledore cast them. If I remove them, or place them on other objects, then it won't go unnoticed.'

In the end, he decided to let the charms be. They would not hinder his plans, and he planned on getting new clothes soon. Dumbledore won't notice if some tracking co-ordinates suddenly disappeared off the map, would he? He could just claim that he decided to buy new clothes, because he wasn't overly fond of his old ones (which was true). Changing his clothes to ones that _didn't_ have Tracking charms on them, he transfigured his baggy, loose-fitting shirt, jacket and pants to ones that fit him.

He _could_ enchant his glasses to activate Mage Sight, but he saved it for a future purpose. Harry imagined there would be trigger wards at the dorm entrance, or at the portrait of the Fat Lady, but Dumbledore would probably go insane monitoring so much activity. Even though the man had an unhealthy interest in Harry's life, he wasn't so crazy as to keep track of every instant of what Harry was up to.

Harry wanted a place to meditate and think, and no room was better than the Room of Requirement. Summoning the Marauder's Map from his trunk, he tapped his wand on it and whispered, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."

Slowly, the dots and lines appeared on the parchment, detailing every nook and cranny of the castle, outlining each passage, and locating every person. After promising himself that he would study the map closely later, Harry saw that the path to the Come and Go room was relatively empty. Filch was on the first floor, while Mrs. Norris was on the third floor. Putting a _Silencio_ on his feet, Harry Disillusioned himself, and walked out of the dorm, and down the staircase.

The common room was empty at this hour. Harry made his way out of the entrance, and quietly proceeded towards the Room. Soon, he reached the leftmost corridor on the seventh floor, and approached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach ballet to trolls. Nearing the blank wall opposite the tapestry, Harry walked in front of it thrice, thinking, 'I need a place to sit and think. I need a place to sit and think. I need a place to sit and think.'

A door appeared on the wall; Harry opened it and went inside. The room was cosy enough; the walls were a colour of dull blue, and the ceiling had small, illuminated lamps. Moonlight filtered in through the high windows, lighting up the room. A small circular knee-length high teapoy rested between two chintz armchairs, which was placed before a warm fireplace. A bookcase rested in the corner, half-filled with books, and the flooring was covered by a blue and violet Chenille carpet.

But Harry did not sit. His mind was a hurricane of thoughts; his ideas were in a complete disarray. He had so many goals, so much that he wanted to fix and much more that he wanted to accomplish. He had the required knowledge, the needed power and the essential experience. 'But, where to start?' he thought. 'Well, first things first.'

"Dobby!" called Harry, and with a _pop_ , the diminutive house elf appeared.

"The great Harry Potter be calling Dobby! Dobby is feeling so honoured! Dobby could never had imagined in his dreams that the great Harry Potter would call for Dobby. Dobby…"

Happy as he was to see his old friend alive and healthy, he had little patience for the elf's hero-worship for him. So, Harry interrupted Dobby's ravings.

"Dobby!" shouted Harry, and the elf stopped immediately. "Good. I'm glad to see you alive and well." The elf started to tear up immediately, so Harry hurried on. "Tell me, are you bonded to the castle, or to the headmaster?"

Dobby replied without hesitation, "To the castle, Master Harry Potter sir!"

"Good. Now I'm asking you something, that I want you to think about. Take all the time you need before coming up with an answer, alright?"

Looking a little astonished, Dobby nodded his head vigorously, his ears flapping to and fro.

"Would you like to become my house-elf?" asked Harry, waiting for the elf's reaction, and wasn't disappointed. Dobby promptly burst into tears, starting to sob whole-heartedly.

"H-Harry P-P-Potter sir asking D-Dobby to b-be his h-house-elf. W-What more c-can D-Dobby ask for. What…" cried Dobby, his ramblings becoming nearly incoherent. Again, Harry interrupted the elf, and asked, "So should I take that as a yes?"

"Yes, Master Harry Potter sir, Dobby accepts!" squeaked Dobby, bouncing on the balls of his feet, vibrating with excitement.

"I have to take an oath, right?" asked Harry, and Dobby nodded in affirmation.

"Very well, then. I, Harry James Potter, do hereby accept Dobby as my personal house-elf. So mote be it." A flash of light later, Dobby had tears leaking from his eyes, but Harry wasn't going to give his long-eared friend any chance to praise him.

Kneeling down on the floor such that their eyes were on the same level, Harry told him, "Dobby, there are certain rules that I need you to follow." Seeing that the little creature was hanging on his every word, Harry continued. "First and foremost, no hitting yourself. Ever. I forbid you from ever punishing yourself, and that's an _order_. If you think you've committed a mistake, talk to me about it. Secondly, you may call me whatever you want it public, but in private, call me Harry." Dobby was bobbing his head rapidly, and Harry sat down on the chair in satisfaction.

"Now, until I call for you specifically, I need you to work in the Hogwarts kitchens. Do you have any questions for me?" asked Harry, and Dobby squeaked out a "No, Harry Potter Sir!"

"Good. Off you go, now," said Harry, and Dobby popped away, recognizing a dismissal.

Sighing in relief, Harry checked off one of the things in his mental to-do list. Harry checked the time; it was half-past ten. He needed more time to think. How could he get more time?

Harry suddenly sat upright. 'I wonder…' he contemplated. 'Could I establish a Time Compression charm inside the room? Better yet, could the room do it for me?'

He sat still, his spine erect. Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind, and thought of one thing, and one thing only. His thoughts were to hasten the passage of time inside the room, thereby lessening it outside. It all depended on the power of the rune cluster, the dimensions of the target (which would be a three-dimensional cuboid), and the time constraint on the rune cluster (if a facility for self-charging were absent). Opening his eyes, Harry saw dramatic changes taking place to the room's volume.

Harry could feel the sentient magic of Hogwarts making amends to the room; he saw the windows disappear, and the height shrink. The length reduced as well, along with a little bit of the width. The fireplace, which was big and cheerful, dwindled in size. Harry noticed little runes appearing on the corners of the walls; the room was drawing in the magic of the castle.

In the room, Harry felt like the air had gotten sparser, and the pressure had dropped. A small slip of parchment appeared on the teapoy. A single line was written on it.

" _Time after compression: One-hour equals ten minutes."_

Harry exhaled loudly. That was _quite_ a bit of time margin that the room had provided, but who was he to complain?

And thus, he began to plan. He had schemed quite a bit before his time-travel, but there were some loose ends left to tie. His first order of business: visit Gringotts. There was quite a bit he was hoping to achieve there. Then, he would proceed to buy a second wand, one that wasn't monitored and tracked by the Ministry. Then there was the matter of handling the horcruxes. While exposure to Basilisk venom would certainly destroy the soul container, he wanted good money out of the great Basilisk carcass that lied in the Chamber of Secrets. Hence, he would use a alternate method to destroy the horcruxes.

And finally, his primary motive for time-travelling-finish Riddle before he has time to escape, rebuild his army and attack Britain, thereby preventing the Second Blood War. Voldemort was nothing more than a rabid dog that needed to be put down; like a virus that assaults your immune system, paralysing it; an element of society that erodes beliefs and faiths, thereby demoralising it. Britain was already healing from its previous conflict, and it couldn't survive another.

Harry checked the time; he had the last spent three hours strategizing, scheming and plotting. He had paced the length of the room like a caged lion; he sat down on the chair or the floor. He lied on the floor, muttering and mumbling. At some point, he had conjured several white sheets of paper, and a simple ball-point pen. Scribbling furiously, he made quite a few lists, ticking here and making a note there. Satisfied with things so far, Harry got up, and called, "Dobby!"

For the second time in the night, the little elf appeared in the room.

"Mast…Harry be calling Dobby?" he said, hastily correcting himself.

"Yes. Dobby, can you take me to Diagon Alley now?" said Harry. Elf magic restricted house-elves to directly disobey their masters. However, it didn't stop them questioning their masters. It was a testament of Dobby's devotion towards Harry that he did not doubt Harry; a minor trying to get to Diagon Alley, in the middle of the night, without adult supervision and without telling anyone didn't seem to faze the little elf in the slightest.

Harry transfigured his shirt into a thick hoodie. Knowing that the room would bring itself back to its original state after he'll leave, Harry grabbed Dobby's hand. Together, they disappeared from Hogwarts with a _pop_.

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They reappeared in a small, empty alley beside Charing Cross Road. Harry thanked and dismissed Dobby, who disapparated away. Pulling his hood low, Harry padded towards the Leaky Cauldron. Slipping inside the entrance, Harry observed that the gloomy pub, which was filled with customers during the daytime, was now almost empty. Two men sat on the counter, chatting with Tom the barman. A hag sat in a corner, covered with shawls and smoking a pipe.

Avoiding Tom's gaze, Harry made a beeline to the alley entranceway. He drew his wand, and tapped the bricks three up and two across. The bricks parted and the alley opened up. Shutters were down and shops were closed. However, Gringotts was open, as always.

The goblins firmly believed in the policy of twenty-four hours and seven days a week business. The economy won't exactly plummet if they closed their bank one day a week, but no one pointed that out to the goblins. Of course, Gringotts wasn't the only bank in the wizarding world. The gnomes were very popular in Eastern Europe and the Americas, and several internationally known muggle banks like the Barclays, HSBC and The Deutsche Bank had magical branches as well—all managed by humans. But all the rich folk of the British Isles stocked their money with the goblins, so their businesses and commissions sustained.

Moving past the other shops quickly, Harry entered the bronze gates of Gringotts, and stepped into the white building. The bank was almost entirely devoid of customers at this time of the night, save for a few. Five or so counters were open, and Harry approached one of them.

" _Greetings, Master Archuk,"_ said Harry in fluent Gobbledegook, noticing the name plate on the goblin-teller's counter. Ignoring the goblin's surprised look, Harry continued. " _I wish to speak to the Potter Accounts Manager, please. Your secrecy in this matter would be much appreciated."_

Archuk stared at him for a moment, his eyes travelling to Harry's scar, and nodded, replying in Gobbledegook as well. " _Of course, sir. If you could wait for a moment, I will inform him right now._ "

Harry nodded back in response, and Archuk hopped off his high stool, scurrying away deeper into the bank. Harry's eyes strayed from the sleek mahogany counters to the ruby-studded artworks on the wall and gold and silver ceilings, cogitating about the Gringotts from _his_ timeline. After the war, the goblins had frozen his account, citing 'reimbursements for infrastructure damage' as the cause, until Kingsley personally negotiated with Ragnok to unfreeze Harry's assets. Nonetheless, each and every one of the swarthy creatures forever carried a grudge towards the Potter family, which eventually resulted them to move their wealth towards the gnomes.

Harry's musings were interrupted by Archuk's reappearance, who beckoned him to follow. They walked for about five minutes, passing through a maze of dingy rooms and several long, poorly-lit corridors, until they finally reached an office.

On the door, emblazoned in silver, was the name 'Potter.' Below the name was the Potter family crest— a tilted ring of fire surrounding an eagle, which had its wings wide apart, and talons beneath. The room's door was shut. Archuk knocked on it once, and hearing a grunt from inside, gestured for Harry to enter.

Of course, Harry knew what to expect inside, having been here a gazillion times before. The room was tiny, and like other rooms in Gringotts, looked dreary as well. A fat goblin sat on an old, hard-backed chair, with another chair in front of him. On his one side, was an even older-looking table, and on his other side were shelves— four shelves stacked with a lot of parchment and even more files. Years of financial data contained in those files, Harry knew. The office had a stuffy atmosphere, and the dismal lighting gave it a yellowish hue.

The goblin's name was Gorrak, a greedy, complacent bugger who put on high commission rates on anything and everything. With Harry's accumulated wealth in the previous timeline, he had fired the smug little bastard few minutes into their first ever conversation. Now, however, Harry knew that the Potter accounts weren't exactly something he could show off. 'That won't be the case this time,' mused Harry, seeing Gorrak pretending to scribble on a parchment, not acknowledging him.

" _Mr. Gorrak, I know you aren't working. Stop your pretence and pay attention!"_ commanded Harry in Gobbledegook, his voice ringing forcefully. He was done being friendly, and it was time for business.

The goblin's gaze snapped to him with shock, his quill breaking its tip and falling down. The momentary gobsmacked expression morphed into one of anger, as Gorrak brows formed a frown, the wrinkles on his face tightening and his eyes clouding with fury.

" _You dare talk to me in this manner?"_ growled Gorrak, his long-nailed hands curling into fists.

" _Yes,"_ replied Harry, and ignoring the goblin's hostile stare, pulled up the other chair and sat down. " _I'm Harry Potter, and I'm here to do business."_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer** : Everything, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing the characters for short while.

"Hello"—indicates normal talk

" _Hello"_ —indicates Gobbledegook

Chapter 4

In all of their prideful years of history, men have never truly understood the race of goblins as in-depth as they would have hoped. Humankind has boastfully showed-off its progress to no one in particular, never having endeavoured to learn more about the intelligent species. To an average witch or wizard in Europe, goblins came off as tellers, bankers, economists and curse-breakers. Outside Europe, goblins were famed as warriors of old, forgers of weapons, miners of precious jewels, and excavators of rare and uncommon manuscripts. But goblins were more than that— so much more.

Goblins worked in the shadows—their workstations were hidden deep within the bowels of earth. They were chemists and biologists; they combined muggle technology and ancient magic to invent and innovate; they were creators of Magicks old and rare Their works in the field of potioneering and Time Magic would put human Unspeakables of most nations to shame.

Concealed in Africa and several parts of Asia, goblins had several hundred cities— self-sustaining communities with proper security, importance to education, ground-breaking business policies, and systematic healthcare facilities, advancing far beyond muggle and magical communities.

Goblins were greedy, but they were also shrewd. It didn't matter how arrogant and supercilious Gorrak was. Harry had to be careful with his legal and financial dealings when it came to Gringotts.

" _My name is Harry Potter, and I'm here to do business_ ," said Harry, sitting down on the only unengaged chair in the room.

Gorrak looked astonished, then disgruntled. " _About time you showed up, Mr. Potter. I was wondering where you've been all these years…"_

" _Forgive me if I sound impertinent, Manager Gorrak, but I was uninformed about the magical world until I was eleven years old,"_ said Harry curtly, not mentioning 'wizarding world', as most goblins took offense to the term. It was only in England and certain parts of Europe where dominance of wizards was prominent. Old and orthodox was the whole British magical community, and conservative were several of its laws, which did not favour other magical races. Ironically, the purebloods (who possessed about seventy five percent of magical Britain's wealth) entrusted all their wealth with the goblins, who distrusted them the most.

Gorrak looked at Harry for a full thirty seconds, seemingly sizing him up. Harry gazed back at the goblin calmly. Finally, the goblin gave a nod in response, and said, " _Very well, Mr. Potter. Firstly, a blood test to confirm your identity."_ Harry noted that the goblin seemed wholly unmoved by the fact that a fourteen-year-old minor had visited Gringotts in the middle of the night, and was talking in fluent Gobbledegook for that matter.

At Harry's nod, Gorrak summoned a small, grey coloured stone bowl which was half-filled with a bluish-green potion. On its side was a little knife, with a tiny blade. Harry picked up the knife, and made a short incision on his finger. Applying pressure near the cut, Harry allowed a few drops of his blood to fall in the potion inside the basin. Soon, the potion started to change colour, multiple shades swirling in and out of focus, and in a few moments, it had stained itself dark purple, a tint of dusk.

Gorrak looked satisfied, acknowledging that the test was successful. He then summoned a rather bulky folder, which was overflowing with parchment. Opening the folder, he browsed busily through it, arriving at a particular page. Looking up at Harry, he began, " _Now, Mr. Potter, let's have a look at the status of the Potter Vaults, shall we? We have—"_

But Harry was in no mood to waste time, and interrupted the goblin. " _Please don't ask me how, but I already know the status of the vaults. I'm already aware of what investments were made in the past, and how the vaults were being handled. No, I'm not here to talk about the past. I'm here because I've got a plan for the future."_

While looking miffed at being interrupted, Gorrak considered what he said and acquiesced. If the human says he knew, he knew. Time was money after all.

Harry observed Gorrak for a few moments, deciding his next course of action. Finally, he said, " _Mr. Gorrak, I will now let you know how things are going to turn out for the Potter accounts henceforth."_

It was then that Gorrak noticed something different; the young human sitting before him had an aura that was hard to explain. Physically, he seemed juvenile enough, as he should be. But his eyes held a steely resolve, an unshakable confidence, and a supreme intellect that few seem to hold. His authoritative presence was almost mesmerizing, but not hostile. On the contrary, his leader-like impressive spirit could gain him followers easily, if he wished.

Unaware of Gorrak's silent appraisal of him, Harry continued, " _Let me inform you of what's been happening at Hogwarts lately. I've been entered in a Tournament that's reserved for adults. By doing so, magic itself has recognized me as an adult. Do you see where I'm going with this?"_

" _Emancipation,"_ said Gorrak, with a dawning sense of realisation. He was thinking fast, all resentment towards his teenage client forgotten for the moment.

" _Precisely,"_ said Harry crisply, glad that the goblin had caught on fast. _"I want you to push for this as much as you can, so that I can gain access to the Potter vaults as soon as possible. Since Albus Dumbledore is my legal guardian_ in loco parentis _, he won't grant me ingress to the vaults. Once Gringotts recognizes me as a legal adult, I can push for the Ministry to similarly acknowledge. With me so far?"_

Gorrak was rapidly scribbling on a parchment, nodding in response. Taking this as a sign to continue, Harry carried on. _"Further, I wish to notify you about a dark object present in your bank."_

The goblin looked up, surprised. " _Dark object? I assure you Mr. Potter, before they're stored in the vaults, all items are screened for dark magic."_

Harry waited for the goblin to finish, then replied in English, "It's a Horcrux."

Gorrak's reaction was instantaneous; his face whitened, and his eyes widened. His long-nailed, grubby hands gripped the edge of the table. The parchment slipped from his hands, and his quill fell down. Fear and anger shone in his eyes, an uncontrolled wrath radiating from him.

" _What did you say?"_ spat the goblin, through gritted teeth. "It's a very serious accusation you're making, Mr. Potter. If it turns out to be a hoax, every goblin in Gringotts will make sure that you're jailed for the rest of your life!" He was talking in English now, as if speaking in Gobbledegook won't make facts understandable to Harry.

" _It's not a hoax, Mr. Gorrak,"_ said Harry, sitting back and watching the upset goblin. _"The cup of Helga Hufflepuff sits in the Lestrange Family Vault, a horcrux of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort."_

The goblin's face, if possible, became whiter. Harry knew for a fact that there were few things in the world that scared the goblins. In his previous timeline, Ragnok, Kingsley and he were in a confidential meeting, to resolve the issue of his accounts being frozen. After much argument, Ragnok, the Director of Gringotts, eventually asked, "What exactly made you attack and rob Gringotts? I want to know the reason, else I won't concede." Harry had looked at them both, knowing that Ragnok's stubbornness would result in his financial suicide. So, after taking oaths from both of them, he explained his reason for robbing Gringotts.

Needless to say, Kingsley had been horrified to learn about the horcruxes. But Harry would never forget Ragnok's reaction. He had raged and raged like there was no tomorrow; the normally calm and collected Global Director of Gringotts, fierce warrior of the past, speaker of over three hundred languages, and known for his unequalled fame and unparalleled knowledge and experience, had ranted and raved for hours.

And so, Gorrak's reaction was unsurprising. Horcruxes were considered the vilest form of magic ever existed…and not just by goblins. It was a crime against nature; a sin that violated fundamentals of life. Using potions and runes to prolongate your life was one thing, but committing cold-blooded murder to split your soul into pieces was an abuse of Soul Magic to the highest degree.

Gorrak swore under his breath; he pulled open a mini-cabinet to his right. Inside, was a dome-shaped silver bell which he obstinately rang. A minute later, a goblin entered the room. Gorrak spoke to the goblin in rapid Gobbledegook; of course, Harry understood each word. The goblin's name was Jabbik, and was asked by Gorrak to carefully screen the Lestrange vault for any hidden soul containers. Jabbik's eyes widened with shock, and he disappeared immediately.

Gorrak sat down heavily, not speaking for a few minutes. Then he gazed at Harry, who was looking at the ceiling, as though politely waiting for the goblin to finish his business.

" _Mr. Potter, assuming that you did not lie to me, how did you come across that piece of information?"_ asked Gorrak, a little sharpness in his tone.

" _Ask me no questions, Mr. Gorrak, and I shall tell you no lies,"_ said Harry pleasantly, feeling like it was time to establish some boundaries. " _I have my sources, but please do not ask further, as it is a delicate piece of information."_

Gorrak looked frustrated for a moment, but then he reluctantly accepted Harry's reply.

" _Should we continue our discussion?"_ said Harry, looking inquiringly at the goblin. Gorrak looked startled for a moment, before hastily summoning the fallen parchment and quill.

" _Of course, of course, Mr. Potter,"_ replied Gorrak with a smarmy voice, grinning almost leeringly, though his face carried a shadow of the earlier trouble.

Harry steepled his fingers; he put one leg on top of the other halfway, and relaxed back on the chair, focussing on the goblin. _"Mr. Gorrak, let me make myself perfectly clear about what I want. The Potter wealth was quite substantial in the past; so much so that the nobles, earls and lords all envied the Potter family's affluence. Over the past two centuries or so, the riches have diminished exponentially. The Potters have given away much money in philanthropy and charity; funded several wars both magical and mundane. Simply put, the Potter fortune is a shadow of its former self, and its prosperity is laughable. The money in there would last me another decade or so."_

Harry leaned forward, peering at Gorrak earnestly, now talking in English. "I wish to return this wealth to its former glory. I wish my future generations to live in a life of lavishness and comfort, an opulence that would be revered and desired equally. But to do this, I require _your_ help, Mr. Gorrak. Together, we can build an empire of profit, a lucrative business of such riches, it can only be imagined."

Over the course of the conversation, Harry had decided to allow Gorrak to hear and envision a part of his plan, just to see his reaction. Goblins would do anything and everything to earn money, and he wasn't disappointed.

His passionate little speech had the desired effect. Gorrak's eyes glazed over; a happy expression came onto his face, quite a change from the scared and angry look a few moments back. Harry imagined drool dribbling down the goblin's mouth, his expression not unlike to a child's when he's taken to a candy shop.

The goblin shook his head, and his tone, if possible, became even more unctuous. " _Mr. Potter, we at Gringotts offer assistance for all your monetary needs. We provide customers with account services, safety deposits and loan facilities…"_ As Gorrak's oily voice rambled on, Harry's attention shifted from the goblin's drivel to the next part of his plan.

Waiting for the goblin to finish, Harry began again, _"I have some proposals for your bank, that may be beneficial for both of us. Hear me out, alright?"_ At Gorrak's puzzled nod, Harry explained in brief, the concept of muggle debit cards, credit cards and online banking services. Gorrak looked amazed; he was rapidly jotting everything down on the parchment.

" _I can provide you with the blueprints of all the ideas,"_ said Harry, watching Gorrak's expression. The goblin looked up, excited. Harry paused for a moment, then continued, _"However, I need a share of the benefits as well."_

Gorrak's eyes narrowed a little, his mouth set in a thin line; a disapproving look came onto his face. He said, _"And how much share are we talking about?"_

" _Ten percent,"_ said Harry imperiously, and Gorrak gave out a short bark of laughter.

" _Ten?!"_ said Gorrak, still chuckling. _"My dear Mr. Potter, you've never dealt with goblins before, it seems. No goblin would ever accept such a steep margin."_

"Maybe so," replied Harry, suddenly switching to English. He leaned forward again, a look of amusement on his face, his eyes boring into the goblin's. Gorrak shrank back a little, surprised. "But you have no idea how profitable this would be. Even if you do send out someone to study this system, no one would be able to _truly_ understand the complex apparatus that muggles have. I know for a fact that goblins _do_ use muggle technology for some of their research purposes. But are you honestly up-to-date with it? How will you manage without internet? Magic and runes can help you to an extent, but what will you do when your customers increase? How will you create a secure and self-updating framework?"

Harry sat back, as a number of emotions passed on the goblin's face. Not letting Gorrak interrupt him, Harry continued, this time in Gobbledegook. _"I have the means to set-up everything. You may, of course, try and replicate what's there in the muggle world, but what's the guarantee that it'll work?"_

Shockingly, Gorrak didn't question Harry's guarantee if _his_ 'set-up' worked as well. Maybe his confidence convinced Gorrak that the green-eyed wizard wasn't bluffing. Instead, the goblin said, _"But Mr. Potter, ten percent is a lot. I say two percent."_

This time, it was Harry who chortled quietly. Looking back at the goblin, Harry said, _"Nine."_

" _Four,"_ said Gorrak, almost pleadingly, as if begging Harry to see reason.

" _Eight."_

" _Five."_

" _Seven. And that's the lowest I'll go,"_ said Harry, and Gorrak nodded.

"Seven it is, then," said Gorrak absentmindedly, making a note on his parchment. As seven percent surplus was a high share, Harry figured that the goblin was letting this go for the moment, as there hadn't been any concrete deal-signing using oaths or Blood Quills, and verbal confirmation wasn't regarded closing a deal.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door; Gorrak grunted in reply. It was Jabbik who had reappeared. He seemed sweaty from head to toe, panting as if he'd run a mile.

" _Report!"_ commanded Gorrak, looking at Jabbik.

Jabbik announced that the horcrux had been dealt with. Gorrak looked relieved, an emotion that Harry mirrored. 'One less thing to worry about.'

After Jabbik had left, Gorrak turned towards Harry, his tone almost fawning. _"If there's any other pending business, Mr. Potter…?"_

" _One,"_ said Harry. _"I haven't been receiving any account statements."_

Gorrak looked shocked. _"I assure you, Mr. Potter, I've personally overseen that all account statements are sent out to you."_

" _Then it's a probability that someone…perhaps Dumbledore who's blocking my mail,"_ responded Harry, thinking hard. _"Very well, Mr. Gorrak, I shall look into it. Meanwhile, I'll bring the said blueprints next time we meet. Once the problem of my mail is sorted, we communicate via letters for some time. We'll set our meeting through letters, if that is acceptable to you."_

" _Of course, Mr. Potter,"_ said Gorrak, bowing low. 

Harry inclined his head, bade a goodnight to the goblin, got up and left the room. He strode out of the bank, and ducked in a neighbouring alley. Making sure that no one was around, Harry called, "Dobby!"

As Dobby took him back straight to the Gryffindor Common room, Harry reflected back on the meeting. It went quite well, better than he'd hoped. Gorrak seemed different in his timeline; almost as if he was willing to listen and reason, before jumping to making deals. Or perhaps, it was _his_ , Harry's attitude that had been different. He'd been brash and impatient, not understanding the technicalities of banking and bargaining. He'd been calm and collected, cool and composed; it was his phlegmatic and slightly dominating posture; his firm and unruffled viewpoint that intimidated Gorrak.

Bidding Dobby goodnight (to which the elf teared up), Harry whisked up the dorm stairs. Quickly changing into his night clothes, Harry cleared his mind for a few moments, reinforcing his Occlumency shield. Pulling the bangs of his four-poster, he fell into a restless sleep.

He had to face the whole school tomorrow, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer** : Everything, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing the characters for short while.

A/N: Apologies for the _extreme_ delay in posting the new chapter, as I was busy in some other stuff. Please rate and review.

Chapter 4

Harry's sleep was filled with vivid dreams; dreams of weasels and beavers and bumblebees and snakes and ferrets getting squashed and crushed and trampled upon. He could have dreamed some more, had his body clock not woken him at half-past five in the morning. It was still dark outside, and the boys of his dorm were snoring away, lost to the world. They won't wake until seven or seven-thirty at least; it was Sunday after all.

Harry got up and got dressed, again putting on clothes that didn't have tracking charms. He transfigured his over-sized, hand-me-down shirt into a fitting sweatshirt, and his large pants into track-pants that snugged his legs perfectly. Harry then conjured a pair of sport shoes his size, and after putting them on, he trotted again outside the Gryffindor common room. This time, he was off to jog.

During his previous timeline, Harry had realized, that avoiding and dodging curses and hexes during a wizarding duel was a chore, but effective nonetheless. It meant that you seldom had to use your magical reserves for defence, and could instead be use for offense. In order to be nimble on your feet, you had to be flexible and fit, otherwise you'd end up tiring easily. And the key to be in good health was to exercise daily.

Again, he crept to the Room of Requirement, even though he wished to run laps around the Black Lake. Standing before the room, he cleared his mind, and wished for a full-fledged gymnasium. Entering the room, he was once more left in awe of its abilities. A fairly large room was conjured; on one side, several cardio machines were lined, including treadmills, exercise bikes and ellipticals. A huge, multi-shelved rack systematically stocked with dumbbells stood in a corner. Several equipment like a squat rack, a pullup bar, barbells, bench presses (both normal and inclined), and several others he couldn't identify were present. The wall alongside the cardio machines was mirrored, and there was a small table on which was kept some towels and water-bottles.

Admiring the room for a few minutes, Harry drew his wand and kept it aside, getting started on a treadmill straightaway. Of course, the sudden strain on his muscles didn't do justice to his scrawny and underweight body, and soon he was puffing and panting, sweating profusely, getting drenched from head to toe. His glasses kept slipping annoyingly over his nose; eventually he removed and kept them on a nearby table.

After about fifteen minutes on the treadmill, he did some stretches, and got started on some of the lighter equipment, toiling and labouring for nearly an hour. His back was aching, his legs were cramped, and his muscles were screaming for relaxation, but it was his determination that kept him going.

After an hour, Harry finally stopped. Wiping himself wearily with one of the hand-towels, Harry put on his glasses and slogged out of the room. Slowly, he made his way towards the Gryffindor common room, with aching limbs and adrenaline pumping through his body. He made his way up to the dorms, and had a long, hot bath, after which he changed into fresh clothes.

It was a quarter to seven, and all boys seem to be stirring awake. Everyone, except Weasley, that is. The red-haired idiot snored away, quite possibly dreaming of consuming food in a god-awful way. Harry quickly put on his robes, tried unsuccessfully to set his hair, and after grabbing his books, went down the dorms to the common room. Thankfully, he met no one so early. Casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself, Harry swiftly made his way outside the castle. His heightened magical senses, honed due to years and years of training, helped him avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris.

Harry knew the perfect place for some quiet. He walked around the Black Lake and went towards a small cove nestled between a thicket of Pine and Wood-moss bushes. Few knew this spot, and even fewer would approach it early morning. Even though his instincts told him that it was safe, he still scanned the area, his eyes sharp and watchful. After a while he settled down, crossing his legs and setting his books aside. Closing his eyes, he positioned his body into a _Padmasana_ state, one of the basic meditative states of Yoga.

He needed a calm manner, a cool demeanour to handle today's rigmarole. Harry let himself travel inside the innermost parts of his mind, deep in the deepest mental recess of himself, where his darkest and most profound secrets were stored. Making sure that the protections around them were strong enough, Harry exited and made his way over to the edge of his mind; the same cliff in his previous life that overlooked the sea. He stood on top of it, feeling like he was standing on top of the world.

Reinforcing his Occlumency shields, he let his magic travel to the centre of his body, a gentle energy leaving his spirit awash with repose, and every fibre of his being completely relaxed. He was the master of his own decisions, a property nobody could take away from him. Suddenly, he felt powerful, extremely powerful. He felt like he could achieve anything he wanted, and a newfound confidence blossomed within him; a mental fortitude that threatened to demolish all in its path.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. The surroundings were now a little brighter, indicating that it had been a while since he closed his eyes. A quick tempus spell told him it was twenty to nine. On normal days, breakfast would be served at half-past seven. However, since it was a Sunday, students were allowed to wake up late, and food was served at eight-thirty.

In his previous timeline, he hadn't approached the Hall, fearing the ensuing confrontations. Now however, instead of being wary, he was just plain curious about what was going to take place. Taking his books, he made his way to the Great Hall, steeling himself for anything and everything. On his way, he came across a gaggle of third year Hufflepuff girls, who stopped short after seeing him. They all gave him a look which he could not place. Was it anger? Fear? Conflict? He surveyed them for a moment, then moved towards the noisy Great Hall.

The effect was instantaneous; as soon as he appeared at the side doors, all noise ceased. All eyes and heads swivelled to stare at him, like searchlights pinpointing a subject of interest. Many people stood outright to take a look at him. Harry simply raised his eyebrows, and continued walking towards the Gryffindor table, ignoring people's attempts to catch his attention. The hubbub started to resume slowly, although it was much more subdued. Oozing supreme indifference at the whispers, pointing and staring, he found a spot where no one was seated, and sat himself down. Pulling up a plate, he filled it with some scrambled eggs and bread. He poured himself a cup of hot tea and started eating his breakfast steadily.

Had he been a teenager, Harry would've ran out of the Great Hall, nervous over being the centre of so much attention. Now however, he was two centuries old (mentally, at least) and he had other things to think about too; namely, his conversation with Gorrack. He wasn't bluffing when he'd told the swarthy goblin about his plans. But he had much more in mind, oh so much more. However, much of his 'conniving' was dependent on the unfolding of soon-to-occur events and their repercussions.

His mind drifted off to another topic that had been bothering him since the start, or more specifically, the thought of one person; that person namely being one Sirius Black. Harry had mentally gone through and visited several scenarios, in which he thought of including the dog Animagus in his conspiring. However, no matter how much trust he'd put in the man, Sirius was susceptible to severe mental and emotional breakdown from people like Dumbledore and Voldemort, because the two old geezers were _quite_ capable of doing it. He _could_ prevent Sirius from coming in contact with the two ever again, but Sirius was a topic that he would worry about after a while. He was duty-bound in sending a letter to his godfather, though.

So deep was he in his musings, Harry didn't even notice someone calling his name until the person waved in front of his face.

"—rry! Harry! Anyone home?" said an all too familiar voice, and Harry started in his place, turning slowly in place to stare at the owner of the voice.

It was Hermione Granger. Harry still hadn't made up his mind regarding the bushy-haired girl. Said girl harrumphed in annoyance and sat down forcefully, filling her plate with food.

"Where have you been?" demanded Hermione, without looking at Harry, looking for something for particular in her bag. "I've been looking all over for you! I searched in the common room, the library, the—"

"Not here, Hermione. We'll have a talk after breakfast," said Harry in a low voice, giving her a hard look.

"Why? What's the matter? Is it Ron? Because if it is, I want to let you know that he's just—"

"Jealous? Yeah, I figured that out myself, thank you very much," said Harry, his voice distinctively sharp. "But as I said, we'll have a talk _after_ breakfast, alright?" Hermione looked at him for a moment, and nodded a moment later, going back to her breakfast.

Harry swept his eyes over the Great Hall, maintaining eye contact with people who were staring at him, many of whom hurriedly looked away. The whispering and pointing was still on, although it seemed less than before. Diggory was talking with some of his house mates, and when their eyes met, Harry looked questioningly at him. Cedric gave him a slight nod, quite possibly indicating that he had a talk with his house. Harry nodded back at him.

Fleur Delacour was chatting with some people from Ravenclaw, and most males were staring and drooling in her general direction. Viktor Krum was eating stoically, ignoring the snivelling Malfoy on the Slytherin table.

On the Gryffindor table, people were not as lively as the rest of the school. Some of them were looking his way, and others were whispering unashamedly. Ron Weasley, who was seated next to Seamus and Parvati, was gulping down food at an alarming rate. The people sitting around stared at him disgustedly.

Harry let his eyes wander over to the head table. Strangely enough, Dumbledore was looking his way. When their eyes met, Harry instantly felt a Legilimency probe in his mind. As irritated as he was with the old man's constant meddling, he wanted to manipulate the Headmaster in a certain way. And so, Harry projected thoughts of Dumbledore's promise to him the previous night. Dumbledore's expression turned serious, and he got up.

"Ahem," he said, catching everyone's attention, and the whole Hall fell silent. A few meters away, Weasley continued being a one-man food disposal system.

"Yesterday, after the Goblet of Fire announced its results, three names came out of it first, as they should, and we all thought that it was done." Dumbledore paused here for a moment, in which at least two-thirds of the Hall was staring at Harry. Dumbledore continued. "But alas, a _fourth_ name came forth, of one Harry Potter. Now, contrary to what most of you are thinking, young Mr. Potter did _not_ put his name in the Goblet, nor did he ask anyone older to do so. The oath he took reinforced this very fact." Dumbledore paused here again for a moment, surveying the Hall sternly.

"I don't want any person to hound Mr. Potter with regards to this, and that includes teachers as well," said Dumbledore, gazing at Snape for the briefest of moments. "He, along with the rest of the champions, will be under a tremendous amount of stress for the remainder of the year, trying to do their best in the upcoming tasks. I'll repeat again, Harry Potter did _not_ enter his name in the tournament. We're trying our best to find the perpetrator of this act. That will be all. You may resume your breakfast."

It probably took everyone some time before they fully digested what Dumbledore said, judging by the time it took for the noise level to go up. Harry finished his breakfast quickly and motioned for Hermione to follow him (she was already done with hers). Harry led her silently to an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor, ignoring her fusillade of questions. He let her go inside the classroom, and within the blink of an eye, he had her stunned. Harry entered the classroom and shut the door, putting on Mage Sight for a moment and scanning the room for anything suspicious. He then rapidly started putting security charms on the door.

Transfiguring a nearby desk into a recliner chair, Harry levitated the stunned girl onto the chair. Harry disarmed and rennervated her briskly. She got up groggily, looking around for a moment, before her eyes fell on Harry.

"Harry! What happened? Did you-?"

" _Legilimens!"_ called Harry, pointing his wand straight at Hermione.

Harry had done a lot of thinking and had finally resolved to search through the girl's mind. He couldn't believe that a person as intelligent as Hermione Granger had joined in the Weasleys' stupidity in his past life. After the war, he was mightily surprised when the girl stuck with Ron Weasley, even going as far as forming a relationship with the brat. Either she was doused with some kind of mind-altering potions or was put under the Imperious Curse.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione Granger turned out to be a natural Occlumens. Not possessing mental shields, but rather an immaculately arranged mind. Her mind took the form of a library (again, unsurprising), with memories stored in the form of books. So detailed was everything, and such was the quality of the intellectual framework, that Harry, who considered himself an expert Occlumens, started to take pointers from everything he saw. The memories were arranged according to the time of occurrence; the newest being placed near the mindscape entrance, getting progressively older as one went deeper into the library. The oldest memories, such as that of her childhood, were at the farthest end of the room.

Harry combed Hermione's mental scape, going through her memories and viewing any recent suspicious altercations. Being a prodigy at swotting and rote learning, her mind was predictably well organized. 'Well, I guess all that capability to memorize would come useful somewhere,' thought Harry. 'Having a near-eidetic memory would give her an advantage while learning Occlumency.'

She was definitely free of the Imperious; _that_ was certain. She also wasn't influenced by any illegal draughts or elixirs. Harry searched for some time more, taking a quick peek here and a glance there; nothing too serious. Any more prodding and her mind would be left in a mess. Harry was preparing to withdraw when he came across something interesting.

There was one particular book, among the scores that were present, which was different than all the others. It was pitch black in colour and was pulsating with an eerie aura. Its darkness seemed to seep in the rest of the mind-library, inch-by-inch and causing other books to tear, the walls to crack and the mahogany shelves to rot. Harry proceeded with caution, reaching out for the book.

As soon as he touched the book, a horde of memories assaulted his mind; recollections of trauma from the past, repressed images of the past that she wanted to forget but couldn't. There was the incident with the troll during first year, and the whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco from second year. Third year saw exposure to Dementors to some extent. There are also flashbacks from Hermione's childhood; memories of her getting bullied at preschool and Elementary education. All of this conglomerated to form a dark blob of pain and anguish, misery and suffering. Harry suddenly realized that none of the students who underwent severe mental or physical shock (or both) during his first three years at Hogwarts (including himself), had received any psychological treatment.

Harry could feel Hermione's conscience fighting back, trying to eject him from her mind, but Harry held on tighter, holding the girl's subconscious in a vice-like grip. The raven-haired wizard had grown an understanding about Granger's bossy and domineering behaviour, and her holier-than-thou attitude; it was because of the multitude of traumas that she'd faced during the past years, and the fact that she didn't cope up with it. Because it was left untreated, her Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) had only magnified and worsened over the years in his previous timeline, especially after the war with Voldemort, which was _why_ she behaved the way she did. The wizarding world didn't have shrinks, and PTSD was normally cured via potions and the mind arts.

Finally, Harry decided to withdraw from the girl's mind. Slowly, he detached his presence from her conscience. The library began to slip out of focus, and Harry felt himself standing before Hermione, sweating a little. She was unconscious, sprawled awkwardly on the recliner. Harry conjured himself a chair and sat down to think a bit, debating with himself on how to handle the situation.

Earlier, he had faintly thought of ignoring the Weasleys altogether, and to get on with his plans. This included Hermione Granger as well. Now though, he couldn't let this problem be. No only did any of the teachers or Hogwarts Board of Governors take any action, it seemed like children were deprived of basic healthcare. Harry wondered if Madam Pomphrey was somehow prevented from doing her job, seeing as her Hippocratic Oath stopped her from outright refusing a patient. It also seemed unlikely that the Granger parents were unaware of their daughter's plight. Unless of course, someone _truly_ strong (both magically and politically) was controlling everything.

The more Harry thought about it, the more it felt like a giant conspiracy. He was still to figure out if Dumbledore was the bad egg or not, but one thing was certain; the Weasleys _had_ to go. At least the rotten apples within the family. He _needed_ to get to the bottom of this.

Hermione stirred and opened her eyes slowly, looking absolutely befuddled. Sitting up straight for a moment, her eyes travelled slowly to Harry. This time though, Harry didn't give her a chance to say anything. Before she could open her mouth, Harry got to her first.

" _Obliviate."_

In the end, Harry decided to alter her memories a bit, erasing the images of their encounter. Instead, he planted false memories wherein they argue and have a big row. He also planted a short-termed inclination, one that would compel her to go and see Madam Pomphrey for further medical attention. Harry's knowledge in Legilimency was great, but not in healing. He wanted to tweak her persona a little bit, but decided against it, choosing to leaving it to fate. Of course, he _could_ intervene if things spun out of control, but he wanted to focus his manipulations elsewhere.

Taking down the protection charms, Harry proceeded to levitate Hermione in the corridor outside. She woke up for the third time in the past (Harry quickly checked the time) two hours. Harry immediately knelt down in front of her.

"Hermione! Are you alright? What happened? You suddenly collapsed!" exclaimed Harry, helping her to stand up. "Are you feeling sick? You should probably go see Madam Pomphrey."

Coupled with the concern in Harry's voice and her disorientation, Hermione relented, and Harry escorted her to the infirmary.

The infirmary was largely empty, save for one tiny first year Ravenclaw, who had a bout of homesickness, and was seeking some remedial potions. They entered the infirmary, and Madam Pomphrey spotted them immediately.

"Mr. Potter! Back so soon? The tournament hasn't even started, for goodness sake!" said the matron, fussing busily over the firstie.

"Not me, but Hermione," said Harry noncommittally, gesturing towards said girl. Pomphrey seemed genuinely surprised for a moment that Harry was escorting someone else instead of himself, but made no comment. She waved Hermione over to one of the beds, telling them to wait for a while.

Harry and Hermione waited in silence, until the Hogwarts matron was done attending to the first-year boy, then bustled towards them.

"Is it alright if I leave? I need to plan for the tournament now." asked Harry to Hermione, who nodded. "Right then, see you later." Without waiting for a reply, he left the infirmary, proceeding towards the Room of Requirement.

After all, it was time to implement Part One of his plan.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer** : Everything, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing the characters for short while.

A/N: Apologies for posting this chapter several months late. I had a few things going on, and didn't really have time to write. Hopefully now, I'll start posting regularly. R&R, and let me know what you think!

Chapter 6

Harry went straight to the Come and Go Room. It was time to start implementation of Part One of his plan. Arriving in front of the room, Harry specifically thought for the Room of Hidden Things. Upon entering the room, he made a beeline towards the location of Ravenclaw's Diadem. He found an old but relatively strong jute sack nearby, in which he dumped the diadem. He walked a bit and looked around, resolving to comb the vast room later to see if he could find anything interesting.

Thinking about where to keep the sack, Harry decided that the Room was his best choice. Few people knew about its whereabouts and presence, and no one would come _specifically_ looking for the diadem _or_ Horcruxes. Putting a simple Notice-me-not charm on the sack, he left it stacked with the other objects. Making sure that it wasn't directly visible to the naked eye, Harry summoned Dobby.

"Dobby!" called Harry, and the little elf appeared immediately, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Mast…Harry be calling Dobby?" said Dobby, hastily correcting himself.

"Yes, Dobby. I need you to apparate me to Diagon Alley," said Harry, nodding approvingly at Dobby's changing attitude.

Harry was now starting with Horcrux hunting, but before beginning his quest, he had some errands in Knockturn Alley. He figured no one would stalk him at Hogwarts, least of all Weasley and Granger. Barty Crouch Jr was busy handling Dumbledore and Voldemort at the same time, and the aging Headmaster wasn't showing his usual unhealthy interest in Harry's life, although the old man did seem somewhat suspicious of Harry's attitude.

Dobby took Harry's hand, and took him to Charing Cross Road. Harry's first stop was Gringotts, where he withdrew a few hundred galleons and sickles. Harry decided to check in with Gorrak later, since it was too soon to ask for results, and he had other things to do.

Stopping to consider for a moment, Harry stepped in a nearby empty alley, and pulling out his wand, he transfigured his clothes into a pitch-black robe and an ominous looking hood. Nothing too attention-seeking or sinister; he just wanted to be as discreet as possible. After all, he had work in Knockturn Alley, and he had to blend in with the usual folks of the place.

Harry knew that his underage Trace and the Tracking Charms on the wand would fail, as Diagon Alley and its surrounding areas were packed with old magic, interwoven and blended in with the magical premises. So, any random event of magic would be brushed off as normal. He applied several glamour charms on his face, making his cheeks and chin wrinkly, and his bright green eyes turned coal black.

Soon, a black robed, black hooded figure, emitting a faint aura was walking on the yellowish, broken and age-old tiles of Knockturn Alley. The hags and the dirty old men in the alley didn't give him a second look; they were used to seeing unusual folks daily.

Harry whisked from shop to shop, taking long strides with a rigid stance. Gravel cracked slightly and stones crumbled under his magical strength, but Harry took no notice as he searched for one specific shop. He found it at last; it was an old, derelict structure, with a shabby look. Almost all shops in Knockturn were dilapidated, but this one was seedier than most. The tiled roof was blackened and covered with ivy; the walls were chipped and mossy, and the windows were tainted with dirt. Above the wooden door, was a nearly faded-out sign that said _Adley's Wands_.

Wandless magic was not exactly Harry's forte. While he could cast simple stunners, disarming and summoning charms without a wand, it used up too much magical energy and was extremely taxing. He needed to build up his magical strength before he could resort to wandless magic during combat.

Ollivander sold wands that were actively tracked by the Ministry, more specifically the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE). It seemed that the Ollivander family had an old tie-up with the DMLE, and received a quarterly stipend for providing information about all the wands that it sold.

Even though _Adley's_ had no such tie-up, its loyal customers, who were also some of the most high-up conservative purebloods from the Ministry, kept the shop running by pulling some strings. Few people ventured into Knockturn Alley, and fewer wandered to go as deep as _Adley's_ , which was why so less people knew about the place.

Staring at the signboard for a moment, Harry pushed open the door and entered the shop. The inside of the shop looked, if possible, even more dusty and unkempt than the outside. Harry stood in a large, poorly-lit hall, that was lined with rows and rows of shelves and cabinets. A wooden table stood in the centre of the room, covered with heaps of scrolls. Pieces of wood littered the moth-eaten carpet covering the floor, which was also covered with old potion stains. At the far end of the room, another doorway lead to the inner rooms of the shops.

Harry didn't have to wait too long; a man came into the room after a minute or two. Harry knew who he was, of course. He was Martin Adley, belonging to a long line of wandmakers from the Adley family. They'd been around since the 1400s, staying into obscurity, serving only to a select group of customers.

Martin Adley was a wizened old man in his seventies; he wore an old set of robes which looked like it was hundreds of years old, and a tattered old straw hat, which looked quite odd on him. It seemed like he hadn't left his shop in years (and he probably hadn't); so wrinkly was his face that his expression was almost masked. But it was his eyes that stood out; startling blue orbs that peered in the depths of your soul; watching, observing, judging.

"How may I help you?" said Mr. Adley in a soft voice, gazing steadily at Harry.

"I'm here to purchase a wand," said Harry, in a deep, gravelly voice, having applied a charm on his vocal cords.

A pair of brilliant blue eyes peered at him, emotionless, apathetic. Harry wondered if the old fellow would serve customers other than the ones he usually catered to. His questions were soon answered.

"Very well. Let's get you sorted, shall we?" said Mr. Adley cryptically, summoning a few boxes from a nearby shelf. Harry masked his surprise, having believed that the old man would have refused, and nodded.

Adley had a different method of assigning wands, quite unlike Ollivander, who made a garish show of foolish wand-waving and prattling about all the wands he'd sold in the past. Adley's philosophy about wands was almost completely opposite to that of Ollivander's. While the latter said, 'The _wand_ chooses the _wizard_ ', the former said, 'The _wizard_ chooses how his wand shall be.' Ollivander had pre-made wands, whereas Adley made custom wands depending on the customers' magic. In his previous life, Harry had discovered the existence of the shop at the onset of the 22nd century, by which time Knockturn Alley was almost entirely shut down by the Ministry.

"Expand your magic, and point me the wood that best matches your magic," said Mr. Adley quietly. Harry nodded again, calmed his breath, closed his eyes and slowly reached out with his magic. He felt a slight tug on his magic, and reached out slowly to the source, feeling a block of wood quite cool to touch.

"Blackthorn," said Adley in the same low voice, his expression neutral. He studied Harry for a moment, his face inscrutable, then summoned a small cabinet. He opened the lid, and it turned out to be a bottomless cabinet.

"Place your wand arm over the cabinet opening, and let your magic flow through your fingers," said Adley, his blue eyes fixed on Harry. The raven-haired wizard did as he was told, and suddenly two small glass spheres popped out from inside the cabinet, right into Adley's waiting hand.

"Powered Basilisk fang and Nundu heartstring," muttered Adley, an unrecognisable look on his wrinkly face. "Perfect for Battle Magic, Transfiguration and Charms. A very powerful merger of potent substances, if I may say so."

He turned towards Harry, and murmured in a raspy voice, "This wand will take awhile to make. About an hour."

"In that case, I'll return in one hour," said Harry, concealing his wonder at the odd combination of the wand core. Because of its sheer complexity, wandlore hadn't been one of Harry's strongest subjects in his past life. But he had sufficient knowledge to appreciate the peculiar blend of materials that would make his future wand.

Stepping out of the shop, Harry walked for sometime and reached an apothecary, where he obtained the anti-Trace Draught (which was a tad too expensive). The shopkeeper had eyed him suspiciously, but didn't raise too many questions. Probably because he was used to too many shady dealings.

Harry then made his way to The White Wyvern, Knockturn's only pub. Compared to the other ramshackle establishments of the alley, this one was fairly neat and tidy. It was darker and dodgier than The Leaky Cauldron, but was alright in Harry's eyes. Feeling hungry, he had some food in the pub, ignoring a few thickset men sitting in the corner, who were leering at him.

Soon, he was back at Adley's, where the old wandmaker informed him that his wand was ready. Twelve and a half inches Blackthorn, with a core made of powered Basilisk fang and a Nundu Heartstring. It was a sleek and thin, obsidian black masterpiece, with a rune inscribed at the non-business end. Adley spoke up.

"Place a drop of your blood on the rune to bind the wand to you."

Harry accepted a small, stylish dagger from Adley, and made a miniscule incision on his ring finger, allowing a drop to fall on the rune. The wand glowed blue and vibrated for a moment, before stopping.

Harry took hold of his wand, and the new magical connection felt incredible, as a marvellous warmth shot up his gut, and sparks flew out of the wand, his body aglow.

Adley watched him silently, his blue eyes focussed on him unwaveringly. Harry couldn't figure out why the old fellow was staring at him so much, but he cleared his throat.

"I'd also like a wand holster."

Adley gave him a nod, and fetched a standard, wooden holster to be worn on the arm.

"How much for the wand and the holster?"

Adley replied, "Forty-three galleons and ten sickels."

"Awfully pricey, that."

"'Tis a customized wand, sir. They're always costlier."

Harry grumbled, but coughed up nonetheless. His trust vault was depleting fast, and the family vault had very little money to refill it, which was why he was being so thrifty.

"Thank you," said Harry, and was about to leave the shop, when he heard Martin Adley speak.

"You are older than you look. Much, _much_ older."

Harry stilled, his hand at the doorknob. He turned slowly, his eyes landing on the old wandmaker.

"What do you mean?"

Adley regarded him for a moment, his eyes shining in a strange light, then replied, "A phoenix you are, dying and rising again from the ashes. A wisdom that exceeds the wisest, a power that defies normalcy. Blessed will be those, who shall be loved and protected by you. May your enemies cower at your feet."

Harry's expression was blank, his mind was in a whirl. Who (or rather _what_ ) was this man? Green eyes narrowed, ready to use Legilimency on the blue ones.

Adley had probably sensed his uneasiness, because he said, "Please don't be alarmed. I'm an empath, sir. Your name and identity are unknown to me. I just spoke my mind. I was just…taken by surprise when you entered my shop. That is all."

Harry calmed his breathing, comprehending what the man was saying. He stared back at Adley, a slightly hard look in his eyes.

"I value your secrecy in this matter, Mr. Adley. I never visited your shop."

"I never betray any customer, sir. Rest assured, our business never happened."

And somehow, Harry felt like he could trust the man. He was hesitant to leave the matter so easily, but relented. He was about to leave when again, Adley spoke up; this time his voice was stronger.

"Good luck to you, sir."

Nodding in gratitude, Harry left.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Boy-Who-Lived was back at the Room of Requirement, testing the new wand. So far, it was perfectly compatible with his magic. He'd been to the Hogwarts kitchens sometime ago for a quick lunch, deciding against going to the Great Hall for lunch. He had to get his plan into motion first, before taking the next leap. _Baby steps, Potter. Baby steps._

He'd pushed the conversation with Adley to the back of his mind, his thoughts centralizing on his next mission. He'd already consumed some of the anti-Trace Draught, which would last a couple of hours. Stuffing his Invisibility Cloak in his pocket, he picked up his new wand, and called Dobby.

"Dobby, please take me to a point outside the anti-Apparation wards of Hogwarts."

"Yes, Harry," squeaked Dobby, and taking Harry's hand, disapparated from the Room with a _pop_.

They reappeared in a small clump of trees, just off the Forbidden Forest. Harry thanked Dobby, and the elf disappeared away.

Harry's next mission was to obtain the Ring Horcrux, located at the Gaunt Shack near Little Hangleton. Harry had personally never been to the shack; he just remembered a fleeting glimpse from Bob Ogden's memories from his previous life, which was enough for him to apparate. Focussing on that single image from his past, Harry concentrated, and vanished silently.

He came into sight atop a small hillock. Right before it, a path curved from a thicket of overgrown, irregular bushes to a large, tall grove of trees. Stretching beneath the group of trees, was a little valley that circumscribed the village of Little Hangleton. Right across the village was another hillock, on the slopes of which stood Riddle Manor.

It felt strange to think that a few hundred meters away, his nemesis was nestled inside his hidey-hole in his infantile form, with Nagini slumbering at his feet and Wormtail blubbering somewhere. If Harry could acquire and destroy all Horcruxes before the Third Task, Voldemort _could_ be killed. However, it wasn't an easy task, especially the Cup and the Locket. 'Well, first things first,' thought Harry, ignoring the graveyard, which had been the subject of many nightmares in his past.

Walking down the path, Harry activated his Mage Sight. As soon as the path turned right, Harry felt a tendril of Dark Magic seeping through the nearby foliage. Following the thin line of magic, Harry soon reached a thicket of bushes and trees in the woods, off a dirt track. Proceeding with caution, Harry reached the Gaunt shack.

The dirty old hut was worse than he'd pictured, worse than the house in Ogden's memory. Nailed to the rusty front door, hung a decomposed snake, almost as long as the door. The shack's walls were now jagged and cracked, almost entirely covered by plants, moss and fungi. A part of the roof seemed to be caved in, and the rest of it was covered with ivy. The smell of decay and death was strong, and so was the feeling of despair. The brambles and branches overhead the shanty cast shadows, making it seemingly lonelier than it was. Indeed, the place seemed like it was held together with magic. However, that's not what made Harry pause.

The whole place reeked with vileness. The ground was practically vibrating with a forceful, negative intensity, and the air hummed with darkness. Harry's Mage Sight enabled him to see that the shack was covered with a purplish-green dome of Parsel Magic, shimmering and rippling at its curvature. Parsel Magic inherently wasn't either good or bad, just like several other magical branches. This wasn't magic cast by eighteen-year-old Riddle; Voldemort had probably returned sometime in the future to restructure and strengthen the wards.

Whipping out his brand-new wand, he started casting detection spells. There was the normal Muggle-repelling ward, Intent-based ward, a large area Notice-me-not charm, all of which were intertwined into a complex mesh, powered by three ward stones placed in a triangular fashion around the shack. He also found some heavy, arcane charms which could only be countered by Parsel Magic.

The raven-haired wizard scratched his head; he decided to try something different. Taking a deep breath, he hissed in Parseltongue, " _I, Lord Voldemort, command the wards to fall on my arrival!"_ He knew the statement was lame, but he couldn't think of anything else.

The wards remained intact, but something else happened. Sensing a sudden motion from above, Harry snapped his wand and swiftly erected a metallic shield just in time. A _gong_ was heard, then there was silence. Dispelling the shield, Harry saw that it was a giant, African Rock Python, slithering on the ground and poised to strike again. Shaking his head in annoyance, Harry vanished the serpent, focussing on the task at hand.

"Seems like the wards _need_ to be taken down," he mumbled, shuffling over to the ward stones. He began negating and neutralizing the protections, with a combination of Parseltongue spells and cruse-breaking. The neighbouring woods were soon filled with loud, resonant sounds that felt like an odd mix of sonic booms and falling metallic sheets. Harry knew that the place was too secluded for the noise to be heard by anybody.

Twenty-five minutes later, he was drenched in sweat and panting, but satisfied. Making a mental note to keep a stash of pepper-up potions ready in case he needed it, Harry walked into the shack.

The insides were littered with a mass of filth and perished Gaunt chattels, smelling so much of putrefaction and decomposition, that he was forced to put a Bubble-head charm to avoid the fetid smell. Disregarding everything else, he slammed his Occlumency shields and followed his Mage Sight to the loose floorboards in the corner. Pulling open the floorboard, he found the golden box covered with dirt.

Exhaling loudly, Harry cast another detection spell on the box. Determining there was no threat to touch it, he levitated the box, shrunk it, and put it in his pocket. He briskly exited the shack, deciding to deal with the Horcrux later. His foremost priority was to _collect_ them. Walking some distance, he apparated to the same spot which was just outside the anti-Apparation wards of Hogwarts. Calling Dobby, he went to the Room of Requirement and deposited the golden box in the same jute sack where the diadem was present.

Taking a quick, hot shower in a bathroom conjured by the room, he asked the room to summon a bed, and after putting a Time Compression charm, he collapsed on the bed. He fell asleep immediately, both magically and physically exhausted.


End file.
